


The Heart of Hogwarts

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-28
Updated: 2010-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is a painter. He travels the world painting people and places and is known as one of the greatest young painters in the world. His latest travel is aboard the Hogwarts, one of the most beautifully crafted airships in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart of Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [hd_fan_fair](http://community.livejournal.com/hd_fan_fair) ([PROMPT 206](http://community.livejournal.com/hd_fan_fair/1871.html?thread=109391#t109391) by fushiforever@livejournal.com). Heavily inspired by: [The Mysterious Geographic Explorations of Jasper Morello](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vORsKyopHyM), and [An Age Remembered](http://community.livejournal.com/anachrotech/432715.html).
> 
> Betas: winnett@livejournal.com, tigersilver@livejournal.com and the Built-in-Beta; amazing people, all three.

The mechanized platform rushed along the narrow suspended tracks, and Harry Potter held onto the front railing, smiling into the sharply cool wind that was generated by the speed. Beside him, his brawny bodyguard Ronald Weasley slouched against the metal bars, but smiled when Harry glanced at him.

"Excited, are you?" Ron asked quite unnecessarily, and Harry's smile tilted wryly to one side. "It's not like you haven't been on an airship before."

"But not this one," Harry said, facing into the breeze again. All that was visible now was a forest of metal frames, part of the massive transport network of the Hogsmeade Port. Harry had wanted to take one of the public platforms, but his personal assistant Hermione Granger had been completely adamant about _that_ idea.

"You know how you are with crowds, Harry," she had reminded him, back at the little inn in which they'd spent one night. "And there's bound to be loads of reporters there, too."

"Besides," Ron had jumped in, "you're probably going to start sketching as soon as you see the ship, and it's best for _me_ if you don't have your fans swarming you while you're gaping at everything else. VIP entry it is."

"I don't have fans and I certainly _do not_ gape," Harry informed him with a squint. "And, besides, I won't just whip out a sketchbook; they're all packed in my trunk."

Ron presented him with a distrustful stare, and received a quick punch to the upper arm from his employer as a result.

"Fine!" Ron had rubbed the offended limb, scowling in mock anger. "But if you fall over because you're busy scribbling, don't look to me to catch you!"

"Aren't we there yet?" Hermione asked, her tone reedy, and Harry turned to see her huddled at the back of the platform. She had one hand clamped over her new silk bonnet, purple ribbons fluttering in the breeze, accompanied by the wisps of curly hair which had managed to escape. Harry quite liked the detail of the lace in her pagoda sleeves, and the warm brown of the cloth; the hem of her dress was fashionably levelled at mid-calf, revealing a coquettish frill of lace and her tall travelling boots were polished to a shine. The green tinge in her face, however, clashed horribly with all her fashionable attire.

"Please, don't be ill before we get on the ship. Not this time," Ron said, the corners of his mouth twitching, and Harry chuckled. Hermione glared at them both, despite her misery.

"Well, why do we have to move _so fast_?" she demanded, chancing a peek to the left, where their trunks were strapped onto yet another platform, trundling on a nearby track slightly behind their own. "It's not as if we're late or anyth—Ohhh! I _hate_ this part."

She used the hand she had free to grip even more tightly onto the decorative metal railing, grimacing as their platform began to slow down. It headed towards a truss-tower, along which another track was vertically supported. The braking system squealed and the platform slowed yet again, jerkily, coming to a complete stop against the face of the truss-tower. Gleaming black armature folded from underneath the platform with well-practiced hisses, moving the wheels which had been propelling them along, and locking them into place against the vertical tracks. The platform began to rise.

Hermione groaned, her complexion wan.

"Almost there, Hermione!" Harry shouted over the loud flurry of the breeze. He stared up towards the opening in the level above with breathless expectation, his hair whipping back against the collar of his grey flannel frock-coat. His garb, like Hermione's dress and Ron's silk brocade waistcoat, had been bespoke especially for this trip. Harry had balked at what he saw as needless expenses, but Hermione had insisted, ignoring all his protestations and had the tailor brought in. She had informed him that since Harry's benefactor would be celebrating the Silver Jubilee on the Hogwarts, Harry should, at the very least, 'appear reasonably presentable.'

"Almost there," he repeated, in a hushed, reverent tone, just as their heads passed through a square opening slightly larger than their platform. The sight of the airship's impressive underbelly greeted their eyes, its solid plates locked together with bolts that seemed as large as Harry's head. There were other truss-towers with platforms freighting up passengers and luggage, but Harry's attention was firmly taken by the metallic vision of loveliness in front of him. His gaze flicked from side to side, eagerly cataloguing the details of one of the world's premiere airships: the _Hogwarts_. Two massive airscrews were affixed on either side of the aft-end; coils of steam emanated from the powerful pistons to which they were attached. The huge loading bay-doors gaped wide; men, miniaturized to the stature of ants by the sheer size of the _Hogwarts_ , rode on clanking octopeds used to transport cargo.

The wings of the airship were a wonder onto themselves. They were arranged on the silver hull in one straight line and, in their current rest position, the majority were stopped at different levels along a wave formation, like a millipede's legs frozen in time. However, Harry could make out one moving slowly up and down, steam heaving out from where its metallic joint disappeared into the ship. He could just make out the muted gleam of the giant steel piston which drove it.

The platform with their luggage and Harry's supplies stopped at the cargo level, and Harry watched them being left behind with not a little trepidation. He recalled that one time when they had been travelling east on a small ship called the _Pensieve_ , and all that they carried had been loaded on a different airship altogether--the _Remembrall--_ and sent firmly in a south-westerly direction. It had been a most frustrating experience, losing track of his supplies.

"It's the grandest of the grand, _Hogwarts_ is," Ron pointed out, apparently catching sight of Harry's worried pout. He motioned with his chin to where one stevedore directed his octoped towards the waiting trunks.

"They'll make sure that all of Harry Potter's needs will be in his room when he gets there. Don’t worry yourself, Harry. I’m sure it’ll be fine."

"Oh, leave off, Ron," Harry mumbled, always uncomfortable with any special treatment he might receive. He fidgeted for a moment and then turned to give his bodyguard a scowl. "You're going to make me miss the best part."

"I thought this _was_ the best part," Ron teased, tilting one ginger eyebrow. "If not this, then what?"

Harry sent him a very slow, satisfied smile. Their platform slowed again as it headed towards yet another suspended floor. He barely had a moment to consider the depth of the triangular trusses supporting this level before they finally emerged through the cut-out. Their platform halted with a neat little bump, flush with the passenger loading platform. The gleaming lines of the airship continued to rise above them, a curve of polished metal. The masts towered like turrets above as Harry eagerly stepped off the small square which had brought them all this way. He held open his arms as if he could encapsulate the very spirit of the airship.

"This," Harry said, " _This_ is the best part." He put his hand into a breast pocket, withdrawing a small book and a bit of charcoal. Without delay, he began to sketch a particularly interesting brass fitting around the portholes.

"What did I tell you?" Ron said and Hermione sighed, patting her hair into place.

"I didn't start sketching _as soon_ I saw it," Harry reminded him and Ron _tsk'_ ed.

"All right, Harry," Hermione said, now back to her usual decisive self as she stepped onto the unmoving level of the boarding area. She grabbed Harry's right arm, tugging him away from the long line of lifts towards the people-sized entry hatches at this level. Harry allowed himself to be led and didn't bother to watch where he was going; he was busy committing bits of the ship to paper in a steady stream of quick lines. The pointed, projected prow emerged in hard edges, and he smudged the marks he made to create shadows underneath.

The next instant, Harry heard an all-too-familiar pop of a flashbulb. He instinctively raised his sketchbook even as Ron moved to his right, blocking him from the view of the passengers and a few reporters who were waiting behind a barrier.

"Harry!" someone called out. "Harry Potter, that 'nother masterpiece you're working on there?"

"'Course it is," Ron answered, comfortable with crowds in a way Harry would never be. "He’s always working on something! Now,” he muttered to Hermione, just loud enough to be overhead by her and Harry, "if only we could get him to actually relax."

Harry rolled his eyes, but managed to peek around Ron's bulk to offer a small wave and a smile. Flashbulbs spluttered and popped in an almost deafening symphony, and Harry tried to blink out the shine from his eyes.

"That's enough, gentlemen," Ron said, not unkindly, and within moments they were in the shorter line, designated solely for the use of the first-class travellers.

"Ron, ticket and Identi-Pass," Hermione ordered, and Harry kept right on drawing, confident that the practical aspects of boarding were being capably handled. The _Hogwarts_ was a few years older than he was, and how wonderfully maintained it was! Those carved curlicues were absolutely _brilliant_ and he—

"Harry? Where's your ticket and Identi-Pass? We need them."

Hermione's voice bled through the delighted haze in his mind and Harry looked up, blinking at her inquiring expression. He suddenly realized that their small group was now standing before an arched entry. The path that led to it was smartly dressed in red plush carpet, and had been so for quite a number of yards. Harry had been so absorbed in his work, he’d not even noticed; he had been busy trying to recall what the airscrews looked like so he could sketch them, as well. A young man, dressed in a blue uniform so crisp that it practically _crackled_ , gave him a wide smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," the man said. "Lovely day for flying, isn't it?"

"Good morning," Harry replied, and then turned to give Hermione a mildly confused frown. "My ticket and Identi-Pass? Don’t you have them, Hermione?"

"I gave them to you earlier, at the inn," Hermione answered, but an expression of mingled resignation and exasperation gradually dawned on her face. "Oh, Harry. Don't tell me you remembered your sketch-book and _forgot your Pass._ "

"Er, I'm sure I have them here somewhere," Harry muttered as he patted his pockets, but he suddenly knew exactly where the ticket and Pass were: right where he had placed them on the windowsill in his room at the inn. He had been captivated by how the bend of the road imitated the massive sweep of the nearby river and simply had to commit it to paper. "Um. Hmm."

"Not a problem," Ron said easily, even as Hermione appeared to be working her way up into a fine scold. "You know exactly who this is, right, mate?" he asked the officer, whose name-tag claimed he was _Colin Creevey, Midshipman_. "So you can allow Harry Potter onto the _Hogwarts_ , yeah?"

Creevey's lips trembled slightly; he swallowed hard, his eyes going as wide as a young doe's. "Beg your pardon, sirs and the lady, but...well, see, I _do_ know Mr. Harry Potter and it's a pleasure but still--no ticket or Identi-Pass, no boarding." He appeared positively wretched and slipped into an even rougher brogue, likely due to his distress: "Them's the rules."

"What!" Hermione burst out, as Harry felt his face flush hot with shame at his own absent-mindedness. Really, he needed to be more heedful; he was known for trying to clean his teeth with a paintbrush (even though he _had_ been ill and exhausted at the time and it was only the once) and had been the brunt of Ron's teasing for nearly a week.

"That’s ridiculous!" Hermione continued, leaning into poor Creevey's space. To the man's credit, he stood his ground, but his expression was simultaneously sorrowful and determined. "Why, we have our own passes and _we_ know he _is_ Harry Potter! This is absurd, really. I wish to speak to your captain this instant, if you please."

Instead of becoming unsettled at Hermione's request to summon his commanding officer, Creevey's expression brightened, as did his speech. "Of course! Please stand to one side so the other passengers may enter. I will send for the Captain straight away, ma’am."

Harry sighed and he did as he was told. Wonderful, he huffed to himself: they were barely ten minutes into their three-week voyage and he'd managed to muck it up for everyone already.

When there was a pause in the arriving passengers, most of whom gave Harry inquisitive, interested glances, Midshipman Creevey reached into the pocket of his jacket and brought out a golden sphere. He tugged at a fine golden chain which hung around his neck, and revealed a small key which he slotted into one side of the ball; turning it, he wound some internal mechanism. When he gave the key a final twist and withdrew it, two tiny membranous wings unfurled and began to beat rapidly, lifting the ball into the air. It was as quick and bright as those hummingbirds Harry had once seen during a trip to the tropics.

"It'll home in straight to wherever the Captain is," Creevey explained, watching it zoom to one side to clear the tent-like covering, before twittering upwards. "My name is on it, you see, and the Captain knows where all the attendants are stationed, so he'll be here in a few moments."

Harry resigned himself to a long session of wait, with an annoyed Hermione on the one hand and a sympathetic Ron on the other. He hunched his shoulders and hoped the reporters didn't notice his current predicament. He was so preoccupied with berating himself that he was surprised, therefore, when a tall, slender man in a dark wool pea-coat stepped out from the shadowed entry less than five minutes after the golden ball had flown off and regarded them all with cool, grey eyes. Harry blinked up at him, barely noticing the midshipman's sharp salute.

How could this man be the captain of the _Hogwarts_? Harry wondered. The airship was regarded as the 'Pride of the Empire' by the more verbose writers of the press, and thus Harry had expected a decorated man, and certainly a much older one; yet this person seemed as young as Harry himself, who had just celebrated his twenty-sixth birthday.

"At ease, Mr. Creevey," the Captain murmured. He removed his captain's hat to reveal a head of fine, pale hair. He had narrow features, and a sharp nose to match. "I am Captain Draco Malfoy. How may I be of assistance?"

Hermione got straight to business. "I am Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's personal assistant. He is Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter's bodyguard...and _this,_ " she reached out and pulled Harry forward by the sleeve of his coat, "is Harry Potter himself."

"A most warm welcome to you all," Captain Malfoy replied, politely nodding in turn to each of them, though his expression remained cool. "It is an honour to host such a prodigious talent as Mr. Potter's on the _Hogwarts_. However, I have yet to discern any problem. What, exactly, might that be?"

"Well... Mr. Potter has misplaced his ticket and his Pass." Hermione tilted her chin bravely. "And so--"

"And so you’re expecting me to allow Mr. Potter on board the _Hogwarts_ purely on the basis of his celebrity, correct?" It hadn't seemed possible, but Captain Malfoy's chilly tone had dropped to arctic levels. Harry shook his head, aghast that he might be seen as some...some spoiled _fop_.

"No, I don't--" he began, but the Captain didn’t allow him to finish.

"You are well aware," Captain Malfoy said, his tone severe as his gaze drilled into Harry's, "that the Empress and more than half of the Royal staff will be aboard the _Hogwarts_ for this voyage. Not to mention a veritable army of advisors, counsellors and their accompanying personnel."

"Harry’s benefactor is on board. He'll vouch for him," Ron bit out, just as Harry tried to speak again, but Captain Malfoy steamrollered on:

"The rules are clear and _will_ be adhered to, for safety and security of the passengers and crew. I cannot chance some impersonator boarding the _Hogwarts_ and causing mischief or harm to my crew and the passengers." The Captain’s eyes narrowed to slits, the grey glittering like hard diamonds as he regarded Harry's windblown hair and face. "You, sir, may _look_ like Harry Potter, but how can you prove that you are whom you claim to be? There _are_ clever masque-makers who do a very realistic job—for a price." He nodded, and Harry realised with dismay that they were being summarily dismissed.

"Wait, Captain Malfoy." Harry stepped forward, still clutching his sketchbook and charcoal. The Captain's lips thinned, even though Harry offered him a wary smile. "I... I appreciate that you're following the rules, and you won't let me in just because I claim I'm me." He bit his lip for moment, hesitating, and then soldiered on. "But...if I prove that I am who I am, will you allow me on? Even though I don't have my ticket?"

The Captain tilted his head and appeared thoughtful. "Yes," he finally said. "I had noted your name on the manifesto, so the lack of a ticket would not be a problem. If you can prove you are indeed Harry Potter, then we would not prevent your boarding.""

Harry exhaled heavily and then opened his little book. His heart thudded in his chest, and he took another calming breath. It wouldn't do to have the thing galloping out of control; it was still rather new.

"Please stand still," Harry said, and smoothed his thumb along the length of his charcoal, as if he could coax Captain Malfoy's likeness right out of the sooty stick.

"What are you doing?" Captain Malfoy's tone was sharp, but quite curious. Harry looked up at him, noting the lines of his high cheekbones.

"Captain Malfoy," he said, tone distant because he was already lost in outlining the thin shape of Captain Malfoy's face. "I'm making my own Identi-Pass."

*

Draco had been standing on one of the catwalks in the Engineering with Severus when Creevey's Snitch buzzed to him. He had held out a hand and the Snitch landed in the middle of his palm, folding its wings to reveal Creevey's name written in small, sloping letters. All the crew-members worked with quiet efficiency, for Draco demanded this and more from them. To send for the Captain entailed some sort of emergency...albeit a low-level one, since the small red light that indicated a dire situation wasn't blinking on the Snitch.

"I'll see you at dinner," he told his head engineer, who waved him off with a bony hand. As miserable as the man was, Severus Snape was still the resident genius of the hydraulics and steam systems which powered the _Hogwarts_. Draco pulled a lever next to his head and his section of the catwalk detached itself from the rest of the pathway, and clanked up the side of the inner hull. It was so warm down here. He’d no clue how Severus appeared so comfortable with the heat-extractors running so low. In flight, it wouldn't approach this temperature, thank goodness; Draco had to pat at his face with his handkerchief just as the platform let him off at the restricted access walkway. He made his way along this suspended corridor, which was tucked in between inner and outer hull, thereby avoiding the passengers with whom he would have to welcome aboard with a charming smile.

The first person Draco noticed as he stepped outside the VIP entry was Harry Potter. The newspaper photographs of the man didn't do justice to the bright green of his eyes, which were emphasized by the absurdly heavy black frames of his glasses, nor the lush tangle of his black hair. The man was astoundingly lovely, Draco decided in an instant, albeit quite a bit thinner than the photos Draco had seen in the last article about him; he quickly reigned in his interest, projecting the usual air of competent coolness at Harry Potter and his tiny entourage. Lovely or not, he had no Identi-Pass and no ticket, and Draco was not about to compromise the security of the _Hogwarts_ for the sake of a pretty face.

Harry Potter's face transcended mere prettiness when he was drawing, though. Draco stared at him as he worked quickly, using his fingers as much as the slender stick of charcoal. His jade gaze flickered up now and again, pinning Draco to the spot. When he stepped forward, turning around his sketchbook so that Draco could see his finished work, Draco was still transfixed by the man’s sheer beauty. No wonder he was so hounded by the press, apart from his remarkable talent. The shy smile he wore made Draco wonder what he thought of his own looks... or _if_ he thought of them at all.

"Here, look," Harry Potter insisted and Draco finally let his gaze drop to the sketch. He heard Midshipman Creevey's sharp inhale as he reached out to take the book.

"Captain, that's amazing," Creevey said and Draco silently agreed. Harry Potter's style was unmistakable, the _starkness_ of it; how he managed to get all those details down in such a short time was an absolute wonder. He'd even caught the glint of the tiny pin on Draco's collar-point: a tiny silver snake his mother had bestowed upon him when he'd graduated the Academy as a brash fighter-pilot.

Harry Potter had captured that, and the double row of buttons on Draco's coat; the sardonic and questioning tilt of his eyebrows; even the way his hair fell around his narrow face. The portrait was amazing, and signed not with any initials, but with the confident lines of Potter’s talent.

Draco handed over the sketchbook. "Welcome aboard the _Hogwarts_ , Mr. Potter," he said, offering a slight bow and braced himself against the sweetness of the artist's smile. "I hope you enjoy your journey."

Harry Potter took back his book, but he carefully tore out the page which contained Draco’s image. "I'm sorry, Captain, I've no frame," he said, and pressed the sheet into Draco's hand. The texture of the paper was rougher than Draco expected, and Potter's fingers were warm against his palm. "But... I would like you to have it."

There was a light flush on his cheeks and neck. It took all of Draco's rigorous training to simply nod curt thanks and remove himself from the artist's vicinity.

*

"Turn 'em and screw 'em," Draco announced and allowed a faint smile to touch his lips when the crew around him let out bursts of easy laughter and increased their preparations. The bridge was a-bustle with activity; Gregory Goyle, the ship's Navigator, peered intently at the maps tacked to the wall as the _Hogwarts_ hummed in readiness around them. One of Draco's oldest friends, he spared few words for other crew-members, but would spend hours muttering at his own cramped handwriting on the maps. Draco laid a hand lightly on the helm, feeling the pulse of the _Hogwarts_ against his gloved fingers. The airscrews had already achieved their proper rotations per minute, and the ship was straining at its mooring-cables; Draco could hear the eager creaks of the chains from all the way up here, on the bridge.

The wings would just about start up in their synchronized flapping, to begin this festive voyage properly. They were to fly over the Desolate, as per the Empress's demand for the Silver Jubilee, a symbolic act representing the expanding reach of the Empire. Reach or not, there were always odd updrafts and thermals rising from that colossal plain, which was barely visible from the towering docks: a dark line beyond the civilized edge of the glittering city. Draco had thought it interesting that even though he'd flown nearly all around the world, he had never gone directly across the Desolate. Well, he thought, as he straightened his stance and narrowed his eyes at that mystifying horizon, if there was anyone who could fly across the Desolate and return safely, it would be the only man who’d ever been made steamship captain at the tender age of twenty. Himself, of course.

Of _course_.

Few actually lived in the Desolate. Airships chose to skirt along right over the nearly complete ring of mountains which bound it. The _Hogwarts,_ however, would be the first to travel straight across the mist-filled and secretive heart. Of course, there were smaller air-skimmers that ventured into the edges of that uncharted territory; most of them had the good fortune of returning in one piece. Draco himself had snuck out of the Academy on such joy-rides, when he had been training. According to the tales which had been whispered in the Academy, there were strange beasts deep inside the Desolate: dragons which slunk around on their scaly bellies, large cats with wings, beings which were part human and part something else; horse or fish, and twice as crafty. The Empress's flight was a battle-cry against these old wives’ tales, the might of steam and metal pitted against the inexorability of nature.

Michael Corner, the First Mate, lifted a brass horn from a nearby column and handed it to him. A slender conduit emerged from the small end, snaking into the flat surface beside a circular plate which had a regular pattern of tiny holes. Draco held the flared end of the horn to his mouth, and spoke.

"Engineer Snape."

"Captain," Severus answered immediately, his dry tones transmitting through the circular plate.

"Status?"

"Energy demand at twenty-five percent." Each word emerging through the transmitter was a crisp sliver of sound. "When the wings are activated, the load will be at forty-three percent of potential output."

Those numbers were excellent, Draco thought, satisfied. "And, Mister Snape?"

"Captain," Severus acknowledged once more, tone unchanged, but Draco knew he was down there scowling at his own version of the transmitting plate, impatient to return to the heaving pistons and the spinning cogs.

"You _will_ be attending Opening Dinner tonight, won't you?"

"Of course, Captain," Severus told him, completely bland, but Draco knew better. How Severus hated socializing with other people! Draco suspected that if given the choice, the man would live entirely below decks, in the heart of the ship.

"Very good. Wings," he ordered, and Lieutenant-Commander Corner stepped up to the gleaming bank of levers and pushed up three sets of three, with some difficulty. The strain on the anchors was even more pronounced with the extra lift of the wings, and there was a very fine tremble in the hull of the _Hogwarts_. None of the passengers would detect it, of course, but the _Hogwarts_ was Draco's; he and his crew were well versed in its every nuance.

The fireworks, which would announce the departure of the _Hogwarts_ had been ordered to be dispatched exactly on the hour. Draco eyed the sweeping minute hand on the round clock which hung over the communicator. As soon as it landed on the twelve, the bright explosions began.

"Anchors aweigh," Draco ordered at the first massive percussion and another lever was pulled. The strain was released, and the airship gained lift.

The _Hogwarts_ rose from its docking post with fluid grace, turrets emerging from the truss-towers as if a part of the city itself was moving. Draco could hear the distant cheers of the crowd, both inside and outside the ship, and could easily picture the grandeur of the steamship as it cleared the metal network which had supported it. He stepped to the helm with purpose, grasping the wheel with a sure hand. The _Hogwarts_ , huffing and hissing magnanimously, turned a few degrees to port as Draco glanced at the compass in the binnacle now and again, making sure he gained the proper heading which Officer Goyle had set. There _was_ a designated group of pilots at the ready, but it was the Captain who had the honour of this moment.

Under Draco's guidance, the _Hogwarts_ continued its elegant turn and rise. The grand windows which dominated the walls of the bridge gave Draco and his crew a wide and unobstructed view; they could clearly see the buildings below being overcome by the shadow of the airship as it advanced to the edges of the city. The Empress was now stationed on the fo'c'sle with her retinue of security and advisors, waving at the masses of people in the streets of the city; this part of the voyage was more of a parade than anything else.

Most of the hectic metropolis was actually built at the top of a plateau, with smaller hamlets gathered along the flank of the mountain. It took four hours for the _Hogwarts_ to finally arrive over the last of these villages at its stately pace and by this time, the blades of Draco's shoulders had taken up a fine tremble in rhythm with the airship's mechanical respiration. He doubted that the Empress would still be outside by the time they sailed over the smaller towns, which was a shame, really.

At that point, he reached up and located a slack length of finely spun chain without looking. Tugging on it, he felt a tiny smile play on his face as the low boom of the steam-horns resounded over the quaint, low buildings. _That_ was the sound that entranced him deeply as a child: the song of the majestic airships sailing through the clouds, pointed out by his father. Lucius Malfoy had been more concerned with how many ships the family owned, and adding more the fleet. The thought of _piloting_ one was that which had pushed Draco to leave the opulent Manor of his birth, and enter the Academy before he was barely in his teenage years. He pulled on the horns again; perhaps there was a child down there gazing up at his ship with wide eyes, listening to deep-throated melody of the ship with delight…just as he had.

By the time the airship finally began its proper approach to the Desolate, it was almost time to be seated at the Opening Dinner. Draco relinquished his post to a waiting pilot with deep reluctance. He was hungry and tired, that was a given, but flying his _Hogwarts_ was its own brand of sustenance. With brisk steps he made his way to his quarters, finding his mess dress already lain across his wide bunk, and the deep copper tub behind the screen filled with warm water. His crew, Draco mused with a grin as he stripped out of his uniform and stepped into the tub, was as efficient as the horde of mechanical components which powered the airship.

He had just finished buttoning his cream-coloured waistcoat, and was reaching for the jacket when there were two sharp raps on his door and a disapproving pause.

Draco called out, "Come in, Severus," tugging on the jacket and smoothing down the lapels. The arched door was pushed open and Engineer Snape stalked in, fully dressed and appearing quite put out about it. Draco smiled at him, amused at the sour expression he always sported when forced into fancy wear.

"If you're quite ready, I imagine we may make our way down to the ballroom," Severus told him, in the manner one would use for their final walk to the gallows. His sharp gaze flickered around Draco's room, taking in the tightly fitted planks which made up the inner hull at this level, and another round transmitter right over the head of the bed, used to rouse the Captain out of sleep during an emergency. He glanced at the bed where Draco had laid the paper which Harry Potter had given to him, and one dark eyebrow arched in curiosity.

"Harry Potter did that. In a span of minutes, if you can imagine," Draco told him as he glided over and picked up the sheet in both hands. "That, dear friend, is his Identi-Pass." He was grinning as he spoke, knowing Severus would pick up on the mixture of his mocking amusement and grudging admiration, but the man was staring at the artwork fixedly, the paper held close to his large, hooked nose.

"Is that so?" Severus said, but his tone was distant. "As a matter of fact, I find I _can_ imagine." He turned and held out the paper to Draco with a careless air, but Draco noticed that there was a small tremor in the edges of the yellowed parchment, and he raised his eyebrows. Severus's frown was thunderous and sudden, like any squall that would beset the _Hogwarts_ now and again. He set the sheaf on Draco's nearby table, and stood there with his arms hanging by his sides.

"Severus--"

"I knew his mother. He seems to have attained some of her technique," Severus said, and fixed his gaze somewhere over Draco's shoulder; this was his way of indicating that this was the beginning and end of that particular discussion. Draco, however, was his _Captain_ , and not about to deterred.

"You knew Harry Potter's _mother_?" Draco set his arms akimbo and shook his head playfully. "Severus! Were you some sort of Lothario in your squandered youth?"

The glare Severus threw at him could have melted through the airship's double framework, so acidic it was. "Nothing of the sort. Now, Captain, the sooner we make our way down to the Dining Hall, the sooner I may return to my post."

"Severus, your desire to mingle with our passengers is most admirable," Draco teased, and laughed out loud at the pinched expression of his engineer as they exited his rooms.

*

Harry swallowed hard as he entered the Dining Hall bracketed by Ron and Hermione. His hair felt odd on his head, lying meekly under the influence of the slick that Hermione had slathered on it up in his room. Considering the trouble he had put them through earlier, he didn't complain as he would have, and had smiled when Hermione had stood back and declared him well turned-out.

Now, he tried very hard not to fiddle with the white bow, and hoped he didn't look _too_ awkward with the tails of his dress-coat hanging past the backs of his knees. He trusted Hermione's word that it was the very latest in fashion, and at least Ron was similarly dressed. Hermione was beautiful, her hair pinned up in beguiling curls; the hoops of her skirts were at their proper width, and her dark shawl complimented the fair skin of her exposed shoulders. Harry caught sight of the tiny reticule in her left hand, and smiled at the way she clutched at it. Ron had gifted it to her before they had departed, and she had actually blushed.

They were announced at the door and made their way down the inclined walkway, going from group to group of other passengers, enduring long-winded introductions and brittle smiles. Famished after only a few rounds of this, Harry had begun to look around for the dining tables when a gentle, papery voice exclaimed, "Why, it's Harry Potter, the dear lad."

Harry felt as if the edges of his smile were touching his ears as he turned around to face a tall, elderly man. "Professor Dumbledore!" Harry wanted to throw his arms around the Professor, but he restrained himself, and settled for a hearty handshake instead. Ron and Hermione offered their own enthusiastic greetings, and they all stood in a close group, backs set against the milling crowd.

Dumbledore nodded at them all, before his bright blue gaze fixed on Harry's face; he tilted his head, and his long silver hair cascaded over his shoulders. "How are you feeling? Is everything ticking along well?"

"More than well, sir," Harry said, still grinning. "Everything is ticking along _perfectly_. "

"Good, good." The Professor nodded, obviously deeply satisfied. "That is excellent news, my son."

"Professor Dumbledore, welcome aboard," a deep cultured voice came from behind Harry; he spun around, and found himself nose to nose with a row of polished buttons. He stepped back, looking up into the narrowly amused expression of the Captain. Flustered, Harry took another careful step back, noticing the even taller man standing behind him. This man glared at Harry, ignored Ron and Hermione completely, and gave the Professor a thin smile.

"Severus!" Contrary to the cool greeting he had received, Professor Dumbledore seemed utterly delighted to see the man who accompanied the Captain. "There you are. The _Hogwarts_ , how does she run these days?"

"As perfectly as the day you built her, sir," this Severus answered crisply, and then nodded as the Professor chuckled. Harry smiled as well, and his gaze travelled, on its own accord, in Captain Malfoy's direction. With a jolt, he found that the Captain's grey eyes locked with his, and hurriedly, he looked away, feeling his cheeks burn. He didn't like being stared at, normally, but the Captain's heavy regard made him feel light under his skin, as if he would float away any second. He laughed at himself; he _was_ flying. He was aboard the _Hogwarts_.

Distantly, he heard Professor Dumbledore explain that he was Harry's benefactor, and Hermione said something else, but Harry didn't hear a word. He steeled himself, and chanced another glance at the Captain and again, he found himself caught by that intent stare. Harry didn't look away this time, and when the corner of the Captain's mouth twitched, Harry ventured an answering smile.

"Would it be too much to request your company at my table this evening, Mr. Potter?" The Captain asked in a voice that only Harry seemed to hear.

"I thought you would need to entertain the Empress and her retinue on this first night." Harry nodded at the long table at which the ruler was seated with her consort, the Lord Thomas. Harry had been commissioned more than any other artist to produce a portrait of the Empress Minerva, and now that he thought about it, he had never painted her with Thomas more than once. She must have detected his inexplicable discomfort with the darkly handsome man; as sharp and ruthless as the Empress was purported to be, she treated him more like a favourite wayward student than an artist in her employ. He had decided ages ago that he liked her, and continued to be pleasantly delighted to walk past his works installed in the halls of the Sovereign House. As a matter of fact, she was staring at him this moment, her grey eyebrows tilted in question as her consort's pet capuchin gambolled across the back of her chair. Harry presented a discreet bow and one of her be-ringed fingers ticked-tocked at him, a mock scold.

Captain Malfoy turned in the direction of his genuflection and bowed as well, before turning back to Harry. "No, the Empress herself has informed me that the customary fripperies of Opening Dinner are not to be observed. Besides," and here, the steely shade of his eyes took on a cheeky glint, "I fear that her table is full to overflowing, don't you think?"

Harry observed the crowd around the Empress, made up mostly of her security officers. Lord Thomas took the capuchin in hand, feeding it from his own plate, and Harry winced at the tight collar around the tiny neck.

"If we go near her table, we might all crash through the floor and end up sprawled over the engines," Harry said, imagining the ruckus. His fingers twitched, longing for his pencils and paints so that he could draw the bright confusion surrounding Empress Minerva; unfortunately, Hermione had forbidden him to take them out of his trunks until tomorrow, and wouldn't melt at his pleading. Even when he pulled out his ultimate weapon, large puppy eyes and a trembling pout, she had turned away with her arms across her chest in exaggerated refusal.

"Need a new begging look, mate," Ron had advised from where he had been seated on a short, three-legged stool, tugging on his boots. "That one wore off right _fast_ , didn't it?"

"How observant of you," Captain Malfoy said now; the look on his face was one of mingled surprise and pleasure. "The main engines _are_ directly underneath that section...about nine levels down, of course. How did you know?"

"I...I've seen the plans," Harry admitted. "In the Professor's offices, so it's not very observant of me, I'm afraid."

"Few people can conceptualize plans in three dimensions, Mr. Potter," the Captain informed him. "Your artistic eye lends itself to clarity of imagination."

Harry bit his lip and accepted the compliment with an awkward nod. Then, something occurred to him and he took a quick step forward, heedless that he was invading the other man's space. "The paper I gave you this morning...I forgot to spray fixative on it! I do have some in my trunk, so--"

"Fixative?" The Captain's pale eyebrows bunched towards each other and Harry nodded quickly.

"For that type of medium, yes. It's best to fix the charcoal to the paper, you see, so it doesn't go smudging all over the place. In a pinch, hairspray will do." Harry sighed. "I'm so sorry, it completely slipped me."

"Hairspray." Captain Malfoy seemed on the brink of laughter, even though he retained that rigid stance. "I'm sure I will be able to locate a bottle, somewhere. I simply spray it over your work?"

"Yes, a light layer will do." Harry grinned at the waves of amusement emanating from the Captain. "Trust me, it works."

"I will take your word for it. Well, are you ready to eat?" Captain Malfoy stepped aside and gestured with one arm. Harry hadn't even noticed that nearly everyone else had taken their seats at small, round tables placed in a radial pattern with that of the Empress's as the focal point, and were being served their dinner. Ron and Hermione were in an intimate corner by themselves, and in another row, the Professor and Severus were deep in conversation. Harry followed the Captain to a table covered in a crisp white cloth just as all the others were, a single white candle standing unlit in the centre.

"I thought your table would be larger," Harry said, feeling a bit shy when Captain Malfoy sat right across from him.

The Captain smiled. "That's generally the custom," he said simply, and said nothing else. Harry glanced away, noting that while they received a few curious glances, nearly everyone was focused on the Empress's table.

As soon as their napkins were in their laps, and their plates were settled in front of them (the scents of a well-cooked meal hooking into Harry's nostrils) the wait staff went around lighting the candles within the dining hall. The overhead lights were ceremoniously dimmed.

"Watch this," Captain Malfoy told Harry and turned towards the hull of the ship. There was a low rumble, and the tall, narrow windows began to widen.

"Oh," Harry breathed as the nightscape was revealed; clusters of stars sailed in a dark sea over a darker ocean of trees. The overhead lights went out completely, and the candles were their own constellation inside the now quiet dining hall. Now, that section of the hull was just one wide space, the pinpricked darkness curving over their heads. It seemed as if all their tables and chairs were outside, floating over the unknown depths of the Desolate. It was painfully beautiful, and Harry swallowed hard, deeply affected.

He stared at the precious view for a long time, gripping his knife and fork. He tried to memorize the diamond-shaped pattern of the glass which separated them from outside, faint lines which were further obscured by the soft light of the candles and the fierce brilliance of the stars. As soon as he got back upstairs, he would use his white inks on some black paper, and that would be lovely contrast--

A touch on his hand brought him back to his dinner and he blinked, returning his attention to his important companion.

"My apologies, Captain Malfoy," he said, and why did his voice sound so low and husky? "I was completely captivated by the view."

"As was I," Captain Malfoy said and kept his gaze on Harry's face as he sipped at his wine. "And, Mr. Potter," he continued after he set his goblet down and began to into cut his meat, "It would be a pleasure if you would call me by my given name."

"Oh. Of course, Draco." Harry was probably beaming at him foolishly, but he couldn't help himself. "As long as you call me Harry."

*

Madness, Draco reproached himself as he walked with Harry Potter through the corridor which was suspended between the inner and outer hulls. Passengers weren't exactly _forbidden_ , and he _was_ the Captain of the _Hogwarts_ , but he had never taken anyone on a tour before; and even if he had, he definitely wouldn't have slipped out far too early in the evening of Opening Dinner, missing dessert. The chefs would be completely miffed when they heard that their Captain had skipped out on the tiramisu; but when Draco had suggested it, Harry's expression lit up and therefore it was completely worth soothing the chefs' rumpled feathers in the morning.

Of course, Severus had taken his leave early as well, as was his wont, but no chef would dare question _him_.

"It's like being on an adventure," Harry whispered, his eyes wide behind his glasses as they crept along. Draco, who walked passages like this one nearly every day, caught the air of his boyish glee and found himself almost tiptoeing past the bright sconces attached to the walls. He stopped and placed both hands against a large panel on the inner hull; it tilted in and slid to one side, revealing a catwalk running off into humid darkness.

Draco held out a hand and Harry promptly put his own into it; Draco helped him onto the metal framework, and said, "Hold on."

Harry tightened his grip on Draco's hand and reached out his free hand to grasp the cool metal loop of the protective railing. He made a short sound of delight and surprise when steam hissed from the edges of the framework, and it detached itself from the rest of the catwalk, clanking its way down the metal side of the hull. The lights were set farther apart at this level, but Draco's eyes acclimated rapidly to the dark, identifying the massive pulleys and drive systems with the ease of familiarity.

"Make sure your coat-tails don't flap out here," Draco warned when their ride passed between two monstrous arrays of anti-backlash differentials, cogs spinning into each other in a well-timed dance. They went past the level of Engineering Control, and Severus turned to fix Draco and Harry with a censorious stare as they descended. Draco nodded briskly at him, knowing that he would be bombarded with questions tomorrow. Severus would have to get in line behind the chefs, though.

"Amazing," Harry breathed, even as he reached back and gathered the material of his clothing in one hand. "All this out of the Professor's head. Wonderful, isn't it, Draco?"

"Yes, it is. But let me show you the most wonderful part of all."

The platform halted at its lowest point of travel with a hefty clank, and Draco led him out onto another set of interconnecting platforms, moving mostly by memory. He could hear Severus way above them, shouting commands at his team; out of sheer habit, Draco knew, because they had this place running like a beloved clock. Severus just liked shouting. They had to bend at some points, and Draco was resigned to the fact that there would be grease all over the sleeves of his mess-dress.

He heard a thin gasp from Harry when they finally arrived at the literal and metaphorical centre of Engineering, scrambling out from under low-hanging components into a clean-swept, circular area.

A heart hung in the middle of the blue-lit space. Not a _real_ one, that would be horrifying; but a fairly large, mechanical construct, pumping in unhurried regularity. A steam-engine about the size of a large pumpkin, it was designed nearly thirty years ago by a mind so brilliant that even Severus was given to admiring mutters now and again.

The Heart was the sole power source of the entire ship, the only one of its kind. It utilized compressed mineral water to generate nearly unlimited energy, and it had been replenished only once in all the years that the _Hogwarts_ had been in operation. Draco knew that the compressed water would need to be replaced again in the next fifteen years. Fortunately, the rest of the mechanisms which required steam for their operation did not require that kind of precious liquid and for that Draco was grateful.

"A _heart_?" Harry had stopped dead in his tracks, releasing Draco's hand to clutch both of his to his own chest. His face had gone pale, with hectic points of colour at his cheeks. "There's a heart! Like mine."

"Poetic," Draco teased, turning to look at him. Harry's cheek was smudged with soot, and his clothing was ruined, yet the stunned cast to his face was absolutely endearing as he stood there gaping at the Heart of _Hogwarts_. "Your artistry surpasses charcoal and dresses itself in words now, does it?"

"What?" Harry sounded faint, as if he was miles away, still in the city. "I...no, I mean to say that I have a heart just like _that_ one."

Draco frowned at him so hard that he imagined he felt his eyebrows collide. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"I didn't see it in the plans at all." Harry took a step forward; he reached out a trembling hand to the Heart before snatching it back. "The Professor probably didn't have it drawn in, wouldn't do to have something like that up on the display copy, but how _amazing_ this is--"

"Mr. Potter." Draco pulled on the commanding tone of a Captain as easily as a jacket. Harry's amazed babble stopped immediately. He turned his face in Draco's direction and visibly gathered himself.

"I'm sorry, Captain," he said, very quietly. Draco instantly regretted the cool tone he had reverted to, but it was the only way he knew to cut through rambling. Harry bit his lip and glanced at the Heart once more, before finally bestowing the entirety of his attention on Draco.

"Nearly two years ago, I fell ill." Harry let one hand fall to his side, while the other remained splayed across his chest. "It was... a very invasive virus, and it began to attack my heart. The doctors determined that it would soon fail, and I was going to die."

How simple and stark his admission was, Draco mused, even as a low-keyed shock burned somewhere in the vicinity of his own throat. Odd; he had only known of the man in a vaguely peripheral manner up until this morning, and now the mere thought of his passing away seemed to hurt Draco like a serious case of Western influenza.

Harry went on: "The Professor...he built a new heart for me. He showed it to me before the operation to remove my damaged heart and it is _exactly_ like that one." Harry inclined his head towards the steadily pounding Heart. "Quite a bit smaller, I would say, but the same."

"You have a specialised steam engine inside your chest that keeps you alive," Draco asked, flatly. Harry nodded, just as solemn. "An engine designed by Professor Dumbledore, based on work developed before you were born."

Harry grinned suddenly. "Yes! I didn't even know! How serendipitous this is, don't you think? That you would lead me down here, I mean." He turned to the Heart once again, as if helpless _not_ to look at it, and stared with an awed brand of affection. "It's like...meeting the family I've never known."

Draco began to laugh and the excitement on Harry's face melted into a wary amusement. He probably thought Draco was laughing _at_ him, which was so far from the truth.

"Harry Potter," Draco managed between bursts of incredulous mirth, "just when I think you're one of the most intriguing persons I've ever come across, you've managed to become _more_ interesting. Related to my ship," he gasped, and laughed again. "Astounding."

Harry blinked, and then chuckled. "The _Hogwarts_ would be my grandmother, I suppose," he said and something in that imagery set Draco to _howling._

*

Harry slipped into his room wearing his ruined evening dress and a wide smile. Captain Malfoy had seen him straight to his door and had shaken his hand with near-perfect decorum...although he might have held on for just a beat too long, and his fingers, long and sure, slid against Harry's when they had released each other. The Captain bid him good-night with that polished, deep voice and Harry felt a sliver of excitement skate down his back before he closed the door.

He carefully removed his oil-covered clothing, wincing in anticipation of Hermione's disbelieving exclamations in the morning. Ron was in bed, but he was probably still awake.

"Where've you been, Harry?" Ah, Harry had been right. He hoped Ron wasn't too irritated with him for haring off to parts unknown with a man he'd just met. He hadn't given it much thought, really; Draco had said, _"Would you like a tour?"_ Harry had replied " _Yes!"_ with great eagerness, and they'd simply walked out.

"Um...in the engine room," Harry told him; there was a shuffling sound as Ron shifted in his bed, which was bolted to the wall.

"With the Captain?"

"Yes. It was brilliant, too. I'm sorry I didn't bring you along--"

"Nah, that's fine, Harry." Ron sounded a bit put out, but not as angry as Harry thought he would be. "Captain's a good enough bloke, I suppose. He's not going to let any harm come to Harry Potter on his ship. But next time, just... give a shout, all right?"

"All right," Harry agreed, knowing that despite Ron's outwardly calm demeanour, he could be just as apprehensive as Hermione. Sometimes, though, their constant hovering was stifling, but he could understand their reasons. They'd been by his side during his long and excruciating illness: when his whole body weakened under the influence of his failing heart; when his fingers could barely grip a pencil or paintbrush; when his mind, clouded with pain, medication and fear, turned on itself and created scenes so harrowing that when Harry had tried to reproduce them, what he had produced was so unsettling that he had placed the painting in the very back of his attic and covered it with white cloth. So, yes, they had grounds to be so smothering, because even after six months, Harry still felt frail sometimes, as inconsequential as fluff... until he remembered that he was being powered by one of the most advanced machines in their world.

"Like magic," Professor Dumbledore had declared when Harry had awoken the morning after the operation, which had been sanctioned and partly paid for by the Sovereign House.

 _Like magic_.

So Harry really thought they should start giving him the benefit of the doubt, sometimes.

"I'll definitely give a shout," he said now as he pulled off his dress coat, waistcoat, bow tie and white shirt, hoping he was folding them right and not creasing them haphazardly. "But remember that while I'm still not too strong, I can manage to keep myself out of trouble. Most of the time, at least."

There was a long silence from Ron's side of the room. Harry couldn't see his expression, for the lamp-light was very low and he was curled under the covers in a large, shapeless lump.

"Well...just as long as you don't put me out of the bodyguard business," Ron finally said, and Harry thought there might be an apologetic tinge to his tone. "I particularly enjoy being paid to shove folks out of your way, you know?"

"Shut it," Harry scolded, making his way over to the stand in between the bunks. He cranked a handle beside the basin to produce a thin but steady stream of warm water, dampened his washcloth and wiped his face. "You'd shove people around for fun, anyway."

"You've been listening to Hermione again, haven't you?" Ron asked, mournfully, and Harry laughed. "G'night, Harry."

"Night, Ron."

Harry listened to Ron's breathing even out as he tugged on his long nightshirt and settled underneath his own blankets. He touched the middle of his chest, letting his fingers trail over the raised ridges of the long scar and the metal plate which covered his heart. Few people knew of it, not even the press had caught wind of the secretive procedure; all that had been reported was that he had been ailing, but was now almost completely recovered. How easily he had told the Captain his secret, though.

He thought of how Draco laughed down near the Heart, and he closed his eyes with a smile, feeling the calm thudding under his own fingers.

*

On the ninth day of their voyage, Captain Malfoy knew he was in deep trouble when he allowed Harry Potter on the bridge.

Of course, he knew he was in trouble long before that. He dined almost exclusively with the artist, and received a long, sly reprimand from Empress Minerva on the fourth night.

"Since you insist on monopolizing Mr. Potter's time, Captain Malfoy, both of you will eat at my table tonight," she informed him, and Draco had bowed deeply to hide the exasperated smile on his face. That had only been the once, though, thankfully, for the Empress's table was far too loud and crowded for Draco's tastes; the little monkey which belonged to Lord Thomas had insisted on playing in Harry's hair and had stolen a pocket-watch right out of an advisor's pocket. Harry had not found it very amusing; Draco suspected he didn't like the way the capuchin was collared and chained.

Whenever Draco went about his rounds, he found himself venturing where he knew the artist would be. Harry would be tucked away in some corner of the exposed decks which were projected above the wings, his bodyguard and assistant nearby, easel set up with a confusing myriad of supplies. More often than not, there would be a tight knot of children hovering close, watching Harry at work. A few of them would peel away from the group when they saw the Captain nearby, sidling close to ask him shy questions about the ship.

"How are you, Mr. Potter?" Draco asked one day, after he answered all queries posed by the children, and had sent them scampering off to the supervised play areas. Harry peered up at him from underneath a wide-brimmed hat which set his delicate features into deep shadow.

"Quite well, Captain," was the low answer, accompanied by a hopeful little grin. "I have a favour to ask of you, though."

"By all means, ask."

"I've been commissioned by the Empress to record this journey for posterity," Harry told him, and wrinkled his nose in a wry manner. "I'm to paint various scenes of the voyage over the Desolate."

"I'm aware of that. May I?" Draco indicated the large sketch-pad which lay on a folding table near his elbow. Harry took it up and handed it over without a word. Draco opened the thick cover and smiled at the marvellous drawings captured therein. There was a piece of the Empress and her attendants milling about on the starboard deck; this was from yesterday, Draco assumed, for they had been flying low to the tree-line, and he could spot the details of the leaves and branches through the railings of the deck. The airship had reduced speed drastically, so much so that Lord Thomas had been sending out his pet monkey into the nearest trees to retrieve strange hanging fruit, returning without harm to the deck.

Draco had been deeply displeased that a passenger, albeit a quick and clever animal, had been off his ship if even for a moment and had expressed this to the Empress. The capuchin's activities had been severely curtailed after that, but not before a large pile of what looked like massive oranges were piled up near the railing, and Lord Thomas had tipped his hat at Draco with a derisive grin. Draco had given him a tight nod in return. Lord Thomas should know better, really. He, Draco's father and Snape had all studied theories of Mechanical Engineering under Professor Dumbledore's guidance. Lord Thomas could have been a celebrated captain, if not for his expulsion from the school. Nonetheless, he knew the rules, and he should bloody well know that Draco would enforce them.

Harry had caught the motion of the capuchin in a brown blur as it went over the side to pluck the fruit; on another page, he had captured a huge plume of mysterious blue mist which had erupted from the depths of the Desolate a few days ago. Here, a group of ladies laughingly playing quoits; Draco could almost hear their high laughter and the quick swish of their silken skirts. He discovered that Harry drew him more than once: walking down a corridor with Severus, smiling in a bemused fashion at the children, inspecting the railings on the decks. He gave Harry a questioning glance, and Harry lifted a narrow shoulder.

"You have good lines," was his only explanation as Draco closed his book and returned it.

Draco smiled at him, hoping it wasn't overly warm. He was already receiving speculative, encouraging stares from his crew concerning his interactions with Mr. Potter, with the exception of Severus, who disliked everything as a matter of course. "You wanted to ask a favour, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes." Harry got to his feet and tilted up his chin, the ridiculous ribbon in his wide-brimmed hat fluttering in the warm breeze. "I wonder--if it's possible, that is, and if it's not, that's fine--if I could sketch you at work? On the bridge, as it were."

"On the bridge," Draco repeated thoughtfully and stared into Harry's bright green eyes. "It isn't against the rules, _per se_ , but--"

"I'd be in the way," Harry finished, and gave a firm, if disappointed nod. "Completely understandable, Captain Malfoy."

"Not quite, Mr. Potter. I fear you would be a distraction for me." Draco turned away from the pleasure in Harry's expression and gazed up at the calm blue sky. Their voyage over the Desolate had been event-free so far; Gregory was beside himself with joy, amending and adding to the maps that were in his possession. He nodded to himself and said, "Are you prepared now?"

Harry grinned, and then scrambled around, gathering up necessary supplies. He had to leave some behind with a disappointed moue, packing them in a small wooden case that was given over to Miss Granger's care. He also told her and Mr. Weasley that he would be quite fine with the Captain, and turned towards Draco with a wide, excited smile. Draco glanced over his head, and gauged their expressions: Miss Granger was only a little concerned, but fairly relaxed overall; Mr. Weasley, on the other hand, gave Draco a long look which contained both a threat and a promise.

Draco drew himself up a little taller, and looked Mr. Weasley directly in his eye. Whatever he saw there might have mollified the man, for he nodded, and turned away to speak to Miss Granger.

They were silent as Harry followed Draco up to the bridge; it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, yet it felt fairly charged. Each time Draco glanced at him, their gazes would catch and hold, and the corners of Harry's lips would tug briefly in a small smile. Draco wanted to kiss him, and knew of many hidden nooks in the _Hogwarts_ in which he could pull the artist and have his way. It was out of order for the Captain of an airship to be so besotted with a passenger, but he found that this concern was set far back in his mind, behind the thoughts of letting his hands trail down the bare skin of Harry's back, or plunging his tongue into the soft warmth of Harry's mouth.

Draco was simultaneously relieved and disappointed when they arrived at the bridge. He pressed the small button next to the wide double-doors, feeling Harry's curious stare as they slid apart to reveal the bridge; if the Engineering section contained the Heart, then this was surely the brain. Lieutenant-Commander Corner turned where he was standing beside the pilot on duty, and nodded serenely as if the Captain brought a famous artist up to this level every day.

"Captain Malfoy on the bridge," he announced, and the crew snapped to, saluting crisply before they returned to their work. Draco wanted to throttle each and every one of the prats, for while they respected him and his rank, it had been _years_ since they had observed such practices. They had done so to impress Harry, and from a quick glance he saw that it had worked.

Meddlesome crew.

He walked with a hand at Harry's elbow, quickly going through the different panels and indicating which levers were not to be touched, under whatever circumstance. Harry agreed eagerly, and sat in a small niche created between two of the windows. Draco made sure he was comfortable, and that his board, now flat across the brown material of his trousers, was well out of the path of the crew. He turned away with some effort, took a deep breath, and attended to his duties on the bridge.

*

Just after Harry ran into the room he shared with Ron, Hermione pounced in through the interconnecting door which led to her own smaller quarters. It was if she had been waiting for him to show up.

"You spent all day on the bridge!" she announced, as if Harry hadn't been there himself. "How was it? Was it all shiny and gleaming, with tonnes of buttons?" Her eyes were as bright as those levers Harry spent quite a few hours committing to paper, and he grinned as he opened his sketchbook, turning it around in his hand.

"It was all _horribly_ shining and gleaming," he said, flipping the pages slowly. "Lots of buttons and switches, and I haven't the faintest idea what any of them were for."

Hermione muttered under her breath as she watched the images being displayed. Now and again, she would burst out with something like, "That's for the drive-system at the wings, I'm _sure_ of it!" or "Oh, look at the steam-gauges, brilliant." She had purchased Professor Dumbledore's book, _Hogwarts: A Mechanical Treatise,_ plus a dozen other tomes, going through them all in a matter of days. Harry suspected that, if given the chance, Hermione might be able to fly an airship herself.

"Maybe the Captain would allow you on the bridge, even for a short while," Harry told her and Hermione clapped her gloved hands together in an almost childish display of happiness. "I'm having dinner with him now; I could ask him."

"Or she could ask him herself, right? You're well in with the Captain, I suppose," Ron said with an impish grin, already dressed for the evening's meal. Harry poked through the fresh laundry which had been brought up by one of the housekeeping crew this morning. They were all steam-pressed, and were as crisp as Hermione could ever require, but Harry had no idea what he was going to wear.

"Well, he won't be in the dining hall," Harry said. "We'll be in his suite this evening. He invited me." He made a face at the shocked silence coming from behind him. "Hermione," he went on as firmly as he could manage, "do you think it would be too much to wear this evening suit?"

"No, I don't think it would be too much," Hermione answered, starting out hesitantly and ending with her customary steadfastness. "But if it's just the two of you at dinner, you could get away with something a bit more casual, I think." She hurried over to the folded clothing and separated an embroidered vest, placing it with a dark trousers and a fitted jacket. "How about these?"

"Yes, those look nice together. Thank you, Hermione." Harry turned, touching the knot of his tie. Hermione's expression grew quizzical as Harry gave her a pointed look, and when he raised his eyebrows, she finally got the hint.

"Oh! I'll let you change," she said and hurried back to her own room, her cheeks gone pink. Harry went behind the screen which separated the round claw-footed tub from the rest of the room; a narrow door in the wall led to the water-closet, but Harry had no use for that right now. He turned one of the brass spigots above the tub, and hot water emerged from the wide-mouthed spout with billows of steam. After adding cold water, Harry removed most of his clothing, throwing them atop the screen. The fine material whispered as Ron tugged them off and folded them into the tall basket for the housekeeping staffs' attention.

Harry stood there in his long drawers for a few moments, looking down at his body. He had always been relatively slight, and his illness had reduced him to a frame so skeletal that Hermione had had no trouble lifting him from bed to chair and back again. She had done it a few times, but had ended up crying so hard that Ron had taken over that particular task full-time. Now, he was gaining weight again, and even putting on a bit of muscle. He let a hand trail down the line of his scar, and then gave the plate over his heart an affectionate thump. The metal-plate was shaded the same tone as his skin, but it was still obviously an unnatural section; Harry wondered what Captain Malfoy would think if he saw it.

At this, he went hot all over and wondered if a dip in tepid water might not be in order. He unlaced the front of his drawers and removed them, stepping carefully into the tub; taking a brisk bath, he made sure not to wet the chest-plate too much.

With Ron's help, he was ready before the sound of the first dinner bell tolled throughout the ship; that was an alert which told the passengers that they had fifteen minutes to make their way down to the dining hall. Ron handed Harry his hat, and a quick, awkward pat on the shoulder.

"Off you go, then," he said and they laughed together. "Just...have fun, Harry. You deserve it."

"I'll try," Harry said, and before he knew it, he was out in the wide corridor, making his way past chattering knots of passengers. Most of them greeted him with wide smiles, and one young girl actually approached him to sign her travel diary. Harry did so with her pen, which had a white feather at the end of it, and even though it felt ill-balanced in his grip he added a quick sketch of his own hand creating the signature.

"What a clever hand," a low voice curled greasily in his ear as he was handing back the diary to the thrilled girl, who stampeded off to show her family his little sketch. Harry turned, stepping away. Lord Thomas regarded him from beneath heavy lids, his monkey perched on his shoulder. Its long tail was curled around Lord Thomas's collar and it stared at Harry unblinkingly.

"Our famous Harry Potter," Lord Thomas said, his eyes glittering even as he leaned back into shadow. "The darling of the Empress."

"The Empress has many darlings," Harry retorted, squaring his shoulders now that he was recovering from that start. "However, I'm sure you find that it is better to live well with one's own truths, and her favour will find you soon enough."

"Is that so?" There was flash of teeth in the gloom, shaped into a dagger of a smile. "Such a naive outlook, I must say."

Harry lifted his chin. "Naive in your eyes, sir, but a tenet I try to follow closely. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be off."

Harry strode off, glancing over his shoulder only once. Lord Thomas sauntered down the gentle bend of the corridor, not heading towards dinner as everyone else, but to the exposed decks. Harry frowned at that, but gave it no more thought as he tried to recall the directions which Draco had given him before he'd taken leave of the bridge earlier. He had to double back once--the ship was so bloody _big_ \--and with the keen assistance of Midshipman Creevey, he found the arched door at the end of a corridor in the crew's quarters. A small silver plate on the door indicated he had indeed located the rooms of _D. Malfoy, Shipmaster_.

"Hello," Draco said as he opened the door to Harry's quick knocking. He had a sheaf of papers in hand, accompanied by a distracted air as he showed Harry inside his quarters. Harry tried not to wring his hat in his hand over much when he removed it from his head.

"You're busy, I see," Harry said, inching back towards the door. With great regret he noted the small table set with dinner and candles. "I'll just go--"

Draco's head snapped up and his light eyes fixed Harry into place against the door. "You'll do nothing of the sort. I've been waiting all evening to see you again."

Harry blushed, but Draco had already returned his sharp gaze to the documents he held. A small furrow settled itself between his eyebrows, and Harry longed to smooth it away, repainting unblemished skin back in its place.

"If you don't mind me asking, Captain...what is the matter?" Harry ventured as Draco walked over to a nearby desk, and placed the papers within a large, open diary. Harry saw fine, slanted writing on the lined pages before Draco shut his book and turned around to face Harry again.

"I do not mind the question, Mr. Potter," he said, yet he hesitated before answering: "A few hours ago, one of the lifeboat indicators showed a timer malfunction. I checked the boat in question myself, and the timer itself appears in order. The gauge on the bridge must be malfunctioning," he concluded briskly, but that tiny frown-line still demonstrated a world of concern.

"You have timers on the lifeboats?" Harry asked, remembering the emergency drills the entire ship had undergone twice since the start of their voyage. He had ended up in life-boat Nine with about twelve other passengers, sitting on one side with his life-jacket wrapped securely over his frame while Hermione and Ron were tucked in on the seat opposite. The entire evacuation had taken four minutes to carry out that last time, an advance over the six minutes from the first drill. Captain Malfoy had been immensely pleased with the improved reaction of the entire ship, and had announced it at dinner. The gathering had applauded, and Harry had felt an unusual rush of pride as Draco inclined his head at the passengers' expression of praise, a slightly wry smile dancing across his thin lips.

Now, Draco nodded. "The life-boats are designed to assemble themselves and launch in seven minutes from the time the alarms are sounded."

"Oh, they assemble _themselves_ ," Harry repeated softly, nodding his head. He had wondered from where life-boats had appeared, silver pods attached to the railings of the exposed decks, their engines rumbling in preparation as the passengers had hurried inside. They were gone the next morning after the drill, so Harry assumed that there were hidden hatches in the sides of the hull from which they emerged. Casting his mind back to his own sketches, he recalled noting small round knobs at regular intervals on the floor at the very edge of the deck, under the railings. Those must be a part of the mechanism of the life-boats, or some kind of control for the hatch. He said so to Draco, who grinned as he inclined his head in invitation, and they sat at the table.

"Yes, those are a part of the hatch-mechanism. Once again, your sharp eyes are commendable, Harry," Draco said, and the sound of his name emerging in a low purr seemed to set Harry's skin on fire. Luckily, Draco stuck to their usual discussion as they ate, sharing stories about their respective pasts. Draco seemed deeply interested in that part of Harry's life in which he lived in a children's home, left an orphan after the death of his parents. Through dishonest legal wrangling, his mother's family had managed to get his hand on Harry's small inheritance, and by the time he was of majority all the money was gone.

"So you turned to your love of art to buy food and provide housing for yourself, while also attending school," Draco said, obviously remembering Harry's recount of that those harrowing years as he struggled to go to his visual arts lectures. Harry nodded. He had met Hermione at the school, for she worked in the Bursary at the time, an office which shared the same space as that of Financial Aid. Harry must have passed her desk dozens of times, and it seemed she took a liking to the scruffy, underfed student with the thin clothing. He was still so very young when he left school, and Hermione had taken it upon herself to organize his life.

When the popularity and demand for his style grew, so did his gratitude for Hermione's presence, for he had no talent in managing money. Thanks to her honest care and her surprisingly shrewd promotional skills, his worth nowadays far surpassed the pilfered inheritance. He even managed to donate regularly to the orphanage which had sheltered him in his youth. He was also thankful for Ron, who pulled him out of a demanding crowd which had surrounded Harry after an exhibition one day. He had stepped in front of Harry, hiding him with his taller, broader body and glaring all about until the horde melted away. Ron, who had already been employed as a labourer in a nearby factory, had been suspicious of Harry's impetuous offer of a job, but had taken it.

"And now he is paid to glare at anyone who dares cross you," Draco said, taking a bite of decadent chocolate cake. "It's good that they're such good friends of yours."

"They are," Harry agreed with a happy grin, and then sighed over his last mouthful of cake. The meal, as usual, had been excellent. Harry was sure that his next scheduled visit to the physician would show a much-needed gain in weight, and possibly Nurse Pomfrey would caper around the office as she had promised the last time he'd had his physical check.

"Did you enjoy the meal?" Draco asked with polite professionalism when they finally arose and headed for the door. Harry retrieved his hat from where he had hung it on a peg, and turned around with a smile, finding himself standing close to the Captain, almost chest to chest. He parted his lips in surprise. Draco's gaze flitted to his mouth before sliding up again, very slowly.

"Yes," Harry said, his voice sounding very low to his own ears. "Very much, it was delicious."

"I see." Draco leaned down and instinctually, Harry tilted up his chin; their noses slid against each other and he exhaled very slowly when he felt Draco's mouth brush against his. "Delicious," Draco murmured and bestowed another slow kiss.

Harry moaned in the back of his throat, a faint, high sound as they slanted their lips together. He found himself pushed up against the door, the wood cool against his back while Draco's body was narrow heat against his chest, stomach and legs. He had closed his eyes, he realized, and cracked his lids open a tiny fraction. His glasses were askew and all he could see were wisps of blond hair and pale skin and long spun-gold lashes.

Harry's hands clutched onto the other man's hips, but he couldn't bring himself to loosen his grip. Draco's arms were around his waist, reeling him in tighter and tighter as if Harry was a large and unwilling fish.

 _Not unwilling, not at all unwilling_ , Harry thought wildly, and then wondered what he had done with his hat. Most likely, it had fallen by their feet. A very tiny part of Harry's mind fretted over the hat on the floor, but the majority of his mental landscape was flooded in a sea of pleasure, caused by the increasingly heated sweep of Draco's tongue in his mouth.

Harry was shifting apart his legs, so that Draco could settle even more between them, when the walls of the _Hogwarts_ shuddered. It was a low ripple, but the creaks and judders in the frame sounded as if the ship was in pain. Draco pulled himself away from Harry so fast that Harry stumbled forward, and it was only Draco's hands on his shoulders which kept him upright.

"What..." Harry swallowed, and then licked his lips, tasting the history of their first kiss. "What is it? Have we struck something?"

"No." Draco spun away, pulling off the casual jacket he had been sporting for dinner, and darting behind a screen which separated his living area from his bed. When he returned, he was buttoning his captain's coat with quick, sure movements; with every button that was slipped in, Harry could see the Captain's return, leaving behind the sultry Draco Malfoy who had been ravaging Harry's senses a few moments ago.

"My apologies, Mr. Potter," the Captain said. "There seems to be an urgent situation, and I must ask you to--"

A harsh voice suddenly broke through, right by Harry's head. He flinched away from the round plate that was set into the wall, staring at the pattern of the holes with wide eyes.

"Captain Malfoy to Engineering," someone snapped. The tone was irate, but Harry had the idea that it wasn't angry as much as it was deeply worried. "Repeat, Captain Malfoy to Engineering."

"I'll be there in three minutes, Engineer Snape." The Captain wrenched open the door and stalked out; Harry ran out after him and hesitated, watching the rigid line of Draco's back retreating down the hall.

"Please go back to your room, Mr. Potter," the Captain threw over his shoulder before he turned a corner and disappeared from Harry's line of sight.

Harry inhaled and then nodded to himself.

He followed the Captain to Engineering.

*

Professor Dumbledore was waiting for Draco at the access-hatch for the Engineering section, his eyes grave behind his glasses.

"It's the Heart," Professor Dumbledore said, voice very quiet as they rode one of the wall-climbers down. Draco nodded, his shoulders aching from how tightly he held them. When they got to the Control level, a young engineer told them that Snape had already made his way to the Heart, and was waiting. There was a tower of panic building in his eyes as he related Severus's message, and Draco took a few precious seconds to alleviate his fears.

"We'll get through this," he said, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder and squeezing lightly. "Trust me."

"Aye, Captain," was the quick answer. Even though there was still a tinge of doubt, at least he didn't look as if he would break into pieces within the next few seconds.

Draco was concerned that Professor Dumbledore would have problems bending down as they walked, but he moved just as fast and as easily as Draco did. When they got to that rounded space which housed the Heart, however, Professor Dumbledore clutched his arm as if he had needed the support.

Nevertheless the Professor's voice was clear and calm when he said, "The Heart is gone."

Severus, who had been on the other side of the room closing off switches and checking gauges, spun around with a ghastly smile. "Yes, Professor, the Heart is gone. Or rather, it has been _stolen_ from right underneath my nose."

Distantly, and in a manner which denoted some kind of internal hysterics, Draco thought that this thievery must have been quite a difficult undertaking, since Severus's nose was quite a formidable thing indeed.

Severus continued, but Draco heard only half of his sharp rant. He felt his chest constricting, and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He stared at the empty space where the Heart had been, the slender conduits which had led from it to the larger pipes hanging in a miserable fashion.

"I saw no one going past Control," Severus said before Draco could ask the question. "No wall-climber, no one on the ladders, _no one_. "

"How much compression do we have in the system?" Draco heard himself ask, and marvelled at the evenness of his voice. "How much longer can we run without the Heart, Severus?"

Severus's nostrils flared. "Ten minutes, starting now."

"The propulsion systems will fail," Professor Dumbledore advised, something that Draco already knew and dreaded to hear spoken aloud. He still listened, though, bracing himself against the truth. "And the _Hogwarts_ will fall."

In the brief silence which spun out after that declaration they heard a sound up above, the insistent clanking of a wall-climber in motion; one of the engineers must be coming down, Draco presumed and opened his mouth to state that evacuation procedures would be initiated, when the communication-plate at that level crackled to life and Corner's voice echoed over their heads.

"Captain Malfoy, there is an emergency."

 _There is no emergency greater than this one_ , Draco thought, but he asked aloud, "What is it, Michael?"

"Captain...all seventy-eight life-boats have launched themselves. They've all landed in the Desolate, and now there are none to ferry passengers to safety."

 _Ah, I was wrong_ , Draco told himself and tried to uncurl his fingers; his nails had dug painful grooves into the flesh of his palms. At least his own flyer was still locked into place; it was not controlled by the bridge, and was located right under his own porthole. But one flyer could do nothing to save hundreds of people when the ship crashed into the murky depths of the Desolate.

Not to mention the Empress; Draco had a brief and vivid flash, seeing himself written up in some history book as the Captain who allowed the most effective Empress in the Empire's history to be killed. He shook himself out of that; some nefarious individual, or a group of them, had obviously sabotaged his ship and Draco would have their heads...after they all survived, of course.

There was a scuffing noise behind them, and Draco turned to see Harry straightening up and staring in shock at the empty space which had once been dominated by the Heart.

"It's gone," Draco snapped before Harry could ask. "Someone stole it."

"But who?" Harry said, still gazing as if he was witnessing the death of a close friend. "Why? And...and how? How did someone get down here to--?"

"We've no time to go through all of that," Draco said, abrupt because his mind was already up at the bridge, calculating some way to slow down the ship's eventual fall. He could make sure that the wings were fixed in a certain position, so they could possibly glide to a landing instead of crashing to the earth like a rock. "Someone got down here without Severus or the other engineers noticing, yanked the only Heart in existence out of my ship, and now I must be up at the bridge to--"

"It doesn't have to be _someone_ ," Harry cut in, and his own tone was almost...dreamy. He had placed his left hand over his chest, fingers moving in a gently absent fashion. "Anything with... with clever hands and a small body could climb down quietly, and be trained to take something the same size and shape as the Heart."

The realization covered Draco like a thick cloud of steam. "The monkey," he breathed. "Lord Thomas's capuchin."

Harry nodded, very slowly, but he was still staring at the empty space of the Heart. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed Professor Dumbledore tilting his head in that manner which indicated that he was in the middle of some grand invention or solution.

"And that isn't the only Heart in existence," the Professor said abruptly, sounding almost too gleeful for such a grave situation.

Harry's smile was slow, and beautiful. "Remember, Captain? I have another one right here." His talented fingers stopped their vague movements and tapped on the material of his jacket with purpose.

Severus said, "What the blast is he _on_ about?"

Draco ignored him. "Mr. Potter. _Harry_. Your heart is far too small to power an _entire ship_. "

"You _are_ joking." Severus's voice was gruff as he regarded Harry.

"Oh, no, it's not too small." The Professor folded his hands behind his back and went into his lecturing mode. "Harry's heart has the same basic design, one that was refined after many, _many_ years of research. _His_ heart has the capacity to carry quite a bit of a load, despite the size." He winked at Harry, who had the _gall_ to wink back. "As strong as a mountain, that one."

"Can it power this entire ship?" Draco asked, absolutely incredulous at himself; he was _considering_ this. He was really entertaining the idea of hooking Harry up to the ship so that it could keep aloft. It was the most outrageous thing he had ever heard... and the only viable solution he had at the moment.

Professor Dumbledore gazed in the air, focusing on nothing at all as he carried out calculations in his head. After a few agonizing moments of this, he nodded. "Cancel all power demands, except for the essential systems. He can run it for about an hour at that level, but after that time the strain of supporting both his body and the ship will cause his heart to fail."

"I just need ten minutes," Draco said, his voice tight. "I'll land her, and then we'll find Lord Thomas. Harry, will you--" he turned to Harry, but the artist had already removed his jacket and vest, revealing the crisp white shirt underneath. He unbuttoned this, his gaze fixed on Draco's the entire time. The resolution in his expression struck Draco forcibly, and he swallowed hard.

"I'll be up to the bridge," he said quietly, and then he stared at Harry's chest as the shirt was pulled off. "Harry?" He found that he had no more words.

"I'm sure," Harry said, and peeped over the Professor's shoulder when he and Severus bustled around. "Go on, Captain."

Draco turned away and scrambled out, heedless of his atypical lack of grace. He made it up to the bridge in a record time of one minute.

*

"Breathe, my boy," Professor Dumbledore muttered. Harry took a few deep breaths, trying not to look at the tangle of wiring now emerging from his chest. Severus was standing by a switch-bank, eyeing rows and rows of twinkling lights. "It'll be all right."

"I know it will," Harry said and tried to smile. He wondered if Ron and Hermione were frantic with worry by now; more than likely, they were.

"Attention, passengers and crew," Captain Malfoy's voice curled out of the communication plates, as sultry as smoke and damned commanding. Harry actually closed his eyes at the pleasure of listening to him speak. "This is an emergency. The ship will be running on diminished power in one minute. All cabin lights will be turned off, all mechanical movers and wall-climbers will be shut down. Please remain in your rooms or at your stations until further notice." There were two quick clicks, and Draco's voice echoed far less as he said, "Professor, is Harry ready?"

"I'm ready," Harry called out and went back to his attempts at breathing calmly.

"Your heart will take the load of the entire ship soon," the Professor said. "It will hurt. It might feel very heavy, I imagine. But remember: I made this heart especially strong, for you. A strong person needs a strong heart." He patted Harry's shoulder and nodded so convincingly that Harry began to nod, himself.

"Transferring to new circuits," Engineer Snape announced. The wires leading behind Harry's chest-plate had been rigged quickly for connection to Harry's smaller heart; the engineer and the professor had had a brief and fairly violent argument (at least, on Snape's part) on the possibility of energy backlash. Harry hoped that their rapid calculations were relatively correct.

The throaty hum of the ship suddenly shifted in timbre; Harry imagined a large choir, where all the bass and tenors were removed in an instant. The change in sound felt the same.

Harry said, "When is it going to happ--?" and the rest of his question cut off in a silent scream as his heart lurched in his chest. He swayed in place and felt hands hold him up, brushing away the hair from his face. He jerked in agony as his heart trembled and struggled, and black spots began to swim across his vision.

"Breathe, Harry," he heard the Professor say from far away. "Breathe."

Harry closed his eyes and forced a massive gasp; he took a few more heaving breaths as his heart began to beat properly again. It felt slower, but the rhythm was even.

"That's it, my boy, that's it," Professor Dumbledore said. Harry heard Snape still flicking switches, but he accepted the comforting support of the Professor and blinked away the tears that soaked his eyelashes.

Harry felt as if a massive burden had settled on his shoulders; he might have been carrying the _Hogwarts_ on his back, for all he knew. However, he let his chin drop to his chest, and set his jaw. _I'll power Draco's ship as long as he needs me to_ , he promised himself, and squared his shoulders against the colossal weight.

*

"Greg, we need a place to land," Draco commanded, and gripped the wheel tightly. His palms were sweating, and he wiped them one by one on his trousers before returning his hands to their white-knuckled clutch. One of the pilots, Padma, stood close by, ready to take over if Draco needed her to.

Michael was aghast. "Captain, the undersides are going to be ripped to pieces... _and_ we're flying without running lights. How will you see to land?"

"I'm landing blind. We can't have the lights and we'll just have to deal with the lack of a dock," Draco said through his teeth. His mind skirted around the thought of Harry down below, bravely taking the place of the Heart. " _Greg_. "

"One moment, Captain." Greg flipped through the records of his observations during the past hour. "Sir, I have three possible locations."

"Give me the closest one," Draco said, even as a high beeping sound penetrated his intense concentration.

Without prompting, Michael inspected the gauge that was sounding the alert and said, "Captain, one of the life-boats is still active. It's still fairly close."

Draco stared at the wheel for about five seconds, and then turned his head slowly to take in Michael's grim expression. Without a word he stepped from behind the wheel, and Padma took his place. He watched as she spun the _Hogwarts_ around in a smooth turn, heading in the direction of the running life-boat that Michael read off from the panel.

"How fast can we go, Captain?" she asked. "We can definitely catch up to it if I let 'er rip."

Draco took a moment to appreciate the training of his crew; they had picked up on his urgent inclination to chase after the runaway boat, and were working as the tightly-knit unit he knew they were. Greg passed information to Padma about the locations of updrafts to avoid, and she made the ship dance around them elegantly.

"I don't know, Padma. But let me find out." Draco almost sprinted over to the communications plate, which was already set for confidential contact with Engineering. "Professor? Is Harry all right?"

"He's doing fine!" The Professor answered with disgusting cheer.

"Good. But...we've located Lord Thomas, and I suspect he has the Heart with him in the pod. We'll need to go as fast as we can to catch him."

"Then go." Harry's voice was faint, yet calm. "Get him."

"Padma," Draco called out, resting his forehead against the cool metal of the plate. "Let 'er rip." He stayed there as the ship picked up speed, not wanting to hear Harry's low groan but forcing himself to anyway. "Harry," he whispered. "Hang on."

He didn't expect Harry to say, "I will, Draco," but he did; the steel buried in that soft tone was formidable. He only moved away when he heard Michael yell out he had spotted the faint shape of the life-boat against the darkness of the Desolate; it was then that Draco told Michael that he had the bridge, and he raced up to his room for his flyer.

He was reaching for the round knob of his door, when he heard a strident cry of "Captain!" and looked over his shoulder to see Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley hurrying up the corridor towards him.

"We're trying to find Harry," Miss Granger said, gripping handfuls of her long skirts, "but--"

"You should be in your rooms," Draco bit out. "And Harry is down in the Engineering level, keeping everyone else alive."

"What?" Miss Granger stared at him, and then she blinked rapidly. "Captain, what is _going on_?"

"I need to go after a man who's stolen something necessary for this ship to fly. And Harry's taken that necessary thing's place until I do." After that explanation was delivered, in a cascade of harried words, Draco shoved open his door and raced past the screen, leaping onto his bed and reaching for the latch of the porthole. He pressed a small button underneath the window at the same time, watching his flyer fold out into its familiar bullet shape, a twirling dance of pistons, chains and metal plates. The skeletal wings snapped out and began to flap fast, raising a frantic buzz.

"That's a two-seater," someone grumbled behind him. Draco snapped his head around, startled, and then tightened his lips at the sight of Weasley looming over him.

"I know that. I built her." Draco pushed out the porthole's glass, raising it higher than usual so that the hinge would catch and hold it horizontally. He clambered out, finding his footing briefly on the short shelf built into the hull of the ship, before taking a large step over the space between the _Hogwarts_ and the small flyer. He spared no thought for the possibility that if he faltered he could fall hundreds of yards into the Desolate. All that was in his mind was the image of Harry's pallid expression when Draco had left him down in Engineering.

"Let me come with you," Weasley shouted out the window, over the buffeting of the wind. "Captain, I could help."

"Fine, hurry up and jump in!" Draco had already gripped the yoke, which rose from the floor up between his legs, and had flicked on all the running lights. As soon as Weasley took that dangerously large step and flung himself into the cramped compartment behind the pilot's seat, Draco wrenched the lever, which would disengage the flyer from its mother ship.

"Come on, _Cissa_ ," Draco muttered. _Cissa_ fell a few feet before zooming out and away from the rumbling bulk of the _Hogwarts_. In a matter of heartbeats, he could see the rogue lifeboat twitching in the air ahead. Lord Thomas had obviously found some way to override the automatic controls and now using its smaller size to out-manoeuvre the massive airship. As talented as Padma was, she still had the sheer size of the _Hogwarts_ to control. The airship was left behind when Lord Thomas banked sharply to the right and transcribed a large circle that Padma would have trouble mimicking, at least not in the same time it took to make that complete about-face...but Draco had _Cissa_.

"I've got you," Draco said from behind gritted teeth as he advanced upon the life-boat rapidly, _Cissa's_ wings now producing a Valkyrie's shriek. "I've got you now, you _bastard_. "

"Look!" Weasley pointed past Draco's head and, in bright cone of _Cissa's_ lights, Draco saw the top hatch of the lifeboat being shoved open. Lord Thomas's dark head poked up out of it, and the expression of surprise flashing across his features was extremely gratifying for Draco to see. Then, Lord Thomas smirked and lifted out the Heart, holding it out over the Desolate.

"No!" Draco forced the control-column so far forward that his face was almost pressed against the front-panel. "Weasley, can you catch?"

"What?!"

"Hang on!" Draco said, stomping on his rudder pedals and opening the throttle all the way. Right before _Cissa_ went down in a rolling dive, Draco saw the strangest thing: the tiny capuchin emerged from inside the lifeboat and scaled up Lord Thomas's back; it scampered along one of his outstretched arms as if it was a branch and flung itself at the Heart, screeching angrily. Lord Thomas bellowed; in a breathless second, both Heart and primate went soaring into the cool night air.

 _Cissa_ shrieked as she dove. Even in his carousing teen years, when his little flyer had been newly built, Draco hadn't ever tested her limits like this. They spiralled down so fast that the wind snatched the tears out of Draco's unprotected eyes before they could begin the slide down his cheeks. As _Cissa_ spun, Draco kept his gaze fixed on the Heart and the monkey which was now gripping onto it fearfully. He estimated the path of trajectories and pulled his flyer up out of her drastic spin.

"Oof!" Weasley coughed out behind him.

"Have you got it?" Draco didn't dare turn around; he was concentrating on flying through the canopy of trees, he had flown that low. "Damn it, Weasley, have you got it?!"

"I've got it," Weasley answered and Draco closed his eyes briefly in gratitude, almost melting into his seat. "Hello there, mate!"

"What?"

"Sorry, Captain, talking to the monkey. No, my friend, this is not yours. _Not_ yours."

Draco heard an indignant series of chattering, and Weasley spoke again: "Well, it's not my fault you've been a naughty thief, is it? No sir, it's _not_. "

Draco said, "Weasley, don't tell me you're back there talking to a _monkey_. "

"He's the cutest thing, yes he is," Weasley cooed and Draco rolled his eyes as he pointed _Cissa's_ sharp nose back towards _Hogwarts_.

*

Harry was dreaming in colours so vivid that they hurt his eyes; however, he kept watching them, for as soon as he came out of...wherever this was, he was going to paint this lovely and weird scene...paint it and give it to Draco to hang in his room.

Draco would like it. It would be an unusual surrealistic foray for Harry, but he knew already that it would be good.

A sharp pain knifed its way into his ribs, and he jerked in agony before he began to fall. He opened his mouth to scream, but the colours swirled together and poured themselves into his mouth, cutting off his cry.

He felt hands at his back, and then someone was cradling him. The colours faded away, mostly, except for one bright streak that resolved into a windswept mess of blond hair. With bleary eyes, he looked up past Draco; they were on the floor right beneath the newly reinstated Heart, Harry sprawled across the Captain's lap. Harry could see the Heart moving in its powerful rhythm, and he smiled up at it.

He turned his head, and spotted Ron, with Lord Thomas’s monkey sitting on his shoulder quite comfortably. He was chatting with Hermione, the Professor and Engineer Snape. Hermione had a smear of oil on her sleeve and appeared positively delighted over that fact when Ron pointed it out to her. The monkey jumped onto her shoulder and tried to scrub the dark marks away with its quick little hands. Snape glowered at it, and Dumbledore laughed when the capuchin scrambled over to him and began to inspect his beard.

"You've helped to avert an attempt on the Empress's life, by her own consort, no less," Draco murmured, brushing Harry's hair away from his face. "He was willing to sacrifice all the lives of the other passengers. Quite the hero you are, Potter. Why you would put yourself in such a position, I may never know."

In the coming weeks, Harry would be caught up in testimony against the captured Lord Thomas, and would then spend a few months on-board the _Hogwarts_ on yet another holiday. After _that_ , Captain Malfoy would spend his entire shore-leave with Harry, zooming around with him on _Cissa_ as Harry clutched onto the back of the seat, yelling with fright and delight. There would be a lot of talking, and touching and smiles.

At that moment however, all Harry could do was close his eyes with a smile and say, "Captain...I simply followed my heart."

 _fin_


End file.
